It Rains Every Day
by perpetualfangirl
Summary: I saw so much promise in this story that I'm just going to move it from One Last Chapter to its own story :)
1. Chapter 1

These are a collection of one-shots (maybe two or three-parters, if things go well) about the MDBC couples. Thanks for reading! Disclaimer: MDBC and its characters belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

**One-Shot One: It Rains Every Day**

**Jess's POV**

I stare at the cold, hard ground that's currently being soaked. I rub my eyes, which are red tired from working so hard at Juilliard, and continue walking home. My feet only make a faint whisper on the sidewalk against the rhythmic rain. The world seems grey, like an old movie.

Thinking of old movies reminds of Movie Madness back at Colonial Academy, where all my friends would meet up on Friday nights and watch black-and-white movies with my host parents. I miss all my Colonial Academy friends, like Frankie and Adele and especially Savannah Sinclair. Colonial Academy was my home for four years, and I miss it terribly.

Home is where the heart is, they say, but mine is lonely and desolate. It's a small apartment far off campus. I guess I wanted a change of pace from Colonial Academy's boarding-school style, but I realize what a stupid mistake that was. These days, I have to take the bus home when my classes are over, but I missed _my_ bus because I stopped to ask Professor Relz about my grade.

I'm majoring in math, because I want to be a teacher someday. Teaching at college, high school, or any school would be great, but I'm still a freshman, so I still have a really long way to go, especially with teachers like Professor Relz.

Professor Relz is the coldest, hardest person I've even dealt with. Her stony blue eyes remind me of Mrs. Chadwick's, but hers are more like frozen metal. At least Mrs. Chadwick was nice once you got to know her. Professor Harriet Relz is always stiff and angry, and snapped at me when I asked about the grade I got on my test.

She gave me a sixty on my test, but she marked at least twenty-five points off for errors I didn't even make. I began to ask if my grade could be changed, since my average was down to a low B with the test grade, but Professor Relz said she was busy and that I could wait.

I sat down on one of her classroom chairs, covered with filth like graffiti (seriously, who trash talks a teacher on a _chair_?) and politely waited for about ten minutes. My bus was going to be leaving soon, and I wanted an early ride home, so I started pacing. Not a lot, just a bit, but enough for Professor Relz to notice. She yelled at me to get out because, according to the Juilliard student handbook, "students must treat all professors and fellow students with the utmost respect" and I had dishonored that through pacing. Pacing! Honestly, that woman is like a reincarnation of the Battleaxe, Mrs. Adler.

I left the classroom after a five-minute-long lecture about respect and modern kids and I'd just missed my bus by a few minutes. Waiting for my bus made me nervous, and I came to realize that it wasn't coming when it was fifteen minutes late. Note that I had been outside in the rain for all those minutes, patiently hoping for transportation that wasn't coming.

Apparently, from a call to the bus station, afternoon buses had been canceled because of the bad weather. That meant that I had no ride home and that I would have to walk for at least an hour. In a rainstorm, too.

So, that's how I got here: on a soaking sidewalk, drenched with rain and trying to get home, which is fairly difficult without a car. I do have a car, but it's in the shop because somebody else ruined the left taillight and part of the bumper. Thankfully, I don't have to pay. That would just be one more thing to add to my long list of burdens.

A silver 2010 Lexus IS drives next to me, and I can't help thinking, _Darcy's car._ Another thing about attending Juilliard while he's at Dartmouth is that we're not together. Of course, we haven't been together since I was a senior at Colonial. He was already at college, and everything began to fall apart. I broke up with him that December. It was my first Christmas without him.

I still miss him, like I have been for the past year. There's nobody out there like Darcy. Of course, I know that he's probably having the time of his life up at Dartmouth, and that he's long since forgotten and moved on. Darcy adored me when we were dating, but I honestly don't think there's anything special about me.

A lone raindrop falls and falls onto my jacket. It trickles down and onto my arm. Angrily, I swipe away at it, like it's the reason Darcy and I broke up. Darcy and I broke up. Darcy and I broke up. _Darcy and I broke up._ It took me forever to comprehend later; it felt like I had stepped into freezing water and I had no intention of leaving. He's not mine anymore. The cold realization is still painful to admit.

The Lexus is still driving alongside me, and I feel a chill go up my spine. Instead of feeling numb, I just feel electrified right now. Forcing myself to keep walking, I take a U-Turn and see if the driver is following me or if it's just a coincidence.

The Lexus turns around. I am internally screaming, but I don't let anything show. What do you do when a creepy car, which happens to looks exactly like the one your ex-boyfriend has, starts following you? We never covered this in drivers' ed.

I reach up to release my still-thick braid, hoping that this will help him my face, and the blonde hair piles around my shoulders. Yes, I still wear my hair like that. I think of it as an apology to Darcy. An apology for everything I did to him. I miss him.

Speaking of Darcy, I begin inspecting the car that looks just like his. It even looks familiar. Same long grey scratch on the right side that Darcy made when he was parking. The front bumper has the exact dent that I made in my junior year of high school when I hit a tree. Surprisingly, Darcy wasn't even mad that his car was damaged. He was just glad that I was okay. Now that I look back on it, maybe it wasn't that surprising.

The Lexus stops with a halt, but I can't see the driver because the car is on the left of me. That means that the driver is on the farther side. I can see that he or she doesn't have anybody in the passenger or back seat, and I hope that this is a good thing.

I'm too afraid to move. The street is empty. People are probably all at home because of the rainstorm. I can hear my heart beating quickly and loudly. Quickly, I turn so that I'm facing a store instead of the road. I tuck my hair behind my left ear, and the charm bracelet from the Christmas of my sophomore year jingles.

I cringe and hope it's not too loud. My level of anxiety skyrockets as I hear the slam of a car door. When I turn to run away, the person reaches out and touches my arm.

I hear a loud sigh. I hear myself sigh as well. I hear the shuffle of my feet as I turn around to face the stranger. I hear my gasp as I nearly drop my books and schoolwork. I hear his voice, a long, deep strong voice like rushing water from a fountain. I hear my utter surprise. I hear his voice, which sounds like soft chocolate brown eyes and curly brown hair tousled just right.

I hear him awkwardly pace around. I hear the pound of feet on the ground, like the footsteps of somebody's who's six feet and two and a half inches tall.

One thing I don't hear though, is the still-falling rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**After lots of debating, I finally decided to keep continuing It Rains Every Day, even though it kind of kills the whole purpose of a one-shot. Oh, well! Disclaimer: MDBC, content, and its characters belong to Heather Vogel Frederick. **

**Jess's POV**

It Rains Every Day

I'm aware that he and I are standing face-to-face on an empty sidewalk with no cars driving down the street. Suddenly, I'm conscious of every detail around me, every little, insignificant thing would never be seen.

Unless someone took the time to notice grungy brown-and-grey color scheme of the bricks on the stores or the crack full of black rock-dust and greying pebbles in the sidewalk, nobody would pick up on it. Of course, I do, because being around Darcy is awkward enough, and I don't want to see the expression on his face. I half-hope he's not looking at me, and the other part of me wishes like crazy.

While I observe the absence of a sun in the sky, it comes to me that the rain isn't so bad after all. I don't particularly love it, but it's refreshing, at least. The gentle dewdrops flitter down and cover me.

"So, are you going to keep standing, or should I make you sit down?" Darcy asks out of the blue. I blush, like I did when I first started liking him. The only thing that keeps me from laughing is the awkwardness of the situation.

My ex-boyfriend, my first and only boyfriend, just popped up six months after we broke up, and I'm dying to apologize but I don't want to say the wrong words and hurt us even more than I already have.

I sigh and weakly mouthe "I'll sit", too nervous to say anything, and Darcy looks away. I think I see him smile, but I can't tell. The whisper-speak is something we used to do back when we were dating, when we didn't need to speak. I miss it.

Parked near the bookstore I'm in front of is a furnished wooden bench, covered with streaky raindrop marks and easily big enough for three or four people. I dismiss my anxiety and sit down. Darcy looks around with his big brown eyes, like somebody's hunting him down, and sits down next to me.

My head is already reciting the apology I wrote him after the break-up set in. It wasn't a real thing that I set out to do, the words just started fitting into place. It's the feeling Emma gets when she writes, that the work was meant to exist and she doesn't need to force the words; they just come together, intricate and detailed, but true.

Darcy is on my right, and I want to face him and talk to him about everything I have bottled up inside of the, even though I don't. Fear is rippling through me like a white surrender flag on a battlefield. Should I be this stiff and afraid at a reunion meeting with my ex? I hope not.

If Darce went from Dartmouth to Juilliard and even met up with me here, I might as well not take it for granted. I've done that in the past, and look where it got me. Lost, bewildered, and confused instead of happy and content.

Mustering up all my courage, I talk to Darcy. I really, really hope it doesn't become one of those moments where I wish life had an undo button. I've gone through plenty of that during the last six months: thinking about my outcomes with him, had I acted, spoken, or thought differently.

"Hi." It's simple and casual, in a soft, trembling voice that I never thought I'd go through again, ever since my mother returned from New York. Fear is paralyzing, and it's like you're being electroshocked by it constantly. I've been so scared and alone this semester that I've hardly said a word to anybody other than my Concord friends.

Of course, I really don't know anybody at Juilliard, so that means mute. Yes, I know my classmates. I know their names and we're friendly towards each other, but it's not like we go to movies and parties, or study together, and things like that. I used to have that kind of fun with Emma, Cassidy, Megan, and even Becca and Sophie.

When Darcy doesn't reply for a few moments, I fluster extremely, inwardly, silently. My nervous fingers fumble and probe for the left part of my neck. I take my pulse. Is it too fast? Is it supposed to be this fast? I don't know. I just picked it up. The pulse-thing, I mean. I feel the beat quicken. I try to take deep breaths. To calm down. It isn't working. I mope over Darcy. Like I have been. For the last six months. Rain lands on my extended arm. I brush the drops away with my too-long sleeve.

I just don't know what to do. Life doesn't have guidelines for these situations. I wish it did. Darcy probably hates me. It's all my fault. The silence pounds like a boulder on me. I can't take the pressure. I know I'm seen as this perfect, happy, fairytale girl by some, but inside I'm crashing down. They see the good grades and the blonde hair and the scholarship to Juilliard, but there's a lot they don't see, too.

"You okay?" He finally asks, and I feel the pressure and internal stress dissolve away into a watery mess. I'm pretty sure I'm shaking and shuddering by now, but I don't notice. This doesn't feel like life. It feels like some dream, where I don't wake up.

An overwhelming wave of mixed emotions, scattered like sand on the seashore, comes right at me and hits head-on. Rain pours perpetually, and I'm pretty sure I look like a mess right now.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Just a little cold. And wet."

If I had known it would rain today, I would've brought a thicker jacket. The one I have on now is simply for aesthetics; its material is delicate and not durable in the least. I am left with no real protection on a rainy New York day.

Darcy takes off his navy blue jacket and drapes it over my arms with a soft smile. I really miss that smile. _Foolish, stupid girl,_ I chide. _Why'd you ever let go of him?_

But the taunt is quieter and my voice feels louder, because he's here.

"Thanks."

"No problem. It's the least I could do for you."

"Pay you back?"

"You don't have to."

"But I _want_ to."

"If you say so."

I put on his jacket, and, with a flourish, we get into his car. I take the wheel. The rain pelts Darcy's windshield at first, but it quickly vanishes as I keep driving. This is nice.

I'm pretty glad I missed my bus after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, everybody! Thanks to all the kind reviews and supporters of this story. I just couldn't stand the thought of not continuing it! In other news, MDBC book 7 is supposed to be about the girls' college days (what about junior and senior year of high school?) and has been pushed back from summer 2015 to early 2016. Disclaimer: all content and characters of the MDBC belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.**

**Jess's POV**

We drive away from the dark rainclouds and into the sun's light. I remember that our shoulders brush at a swift swerve. The cars in front of us don't seem to be existent as we talk. It's like they become invisible, translucent, ghostly.

"So, Darcy, how are you liking New York?" I strike up another conversation, but it feels more natural this time. Not completely natural; there are still some rough, icy patches, but it's better.

"It's really quite nice. A big change from Massachusetts and New Hampshire, but a good change."

I hear a trace of the British influence, left over from years over. There's no accent left, but his polite, choice words leave me breathless.

Darcy's polite voice is a long, distant leap from Professor Relz's bitter bark, and I like the new feeling. The freedom of being with him is something I've missed a lot in the last six months. I feel the resilience between us drain away, the way morning dew evaporates into the sun's light until it's nothing more than a speck on the sidewalk.

"How about you?" He asks softly.

Maybe it's not so sudden, maybe I just got wrapped up in my memories of him. There are so many that it's easy to get lost. I miss getting lost in the past with Darcy, my eyes half-open, half-closed, my braided hair blowing in the storm. I liked getting lost. I can't do that anymore.

I ponder his seemingly-simple question with both eyes wide open. Do I like New York? If I could change the choice to move there, would I? I love New York, but I don't like its people, angry citizens like little carbon copies of Professor Relz. There are some nice people, though, like my classmates.

Deciding that I like New York, I respond," Yeah, I really like New York. It's just that I don't know anyone here. You know what I mean?"

Darcy replies, "Definitely. I know how you feel."

"Wait a minute! You're perpetually popular, everywhere you go."

"You'd think that, but I was a nobody at college. I missed you a lot." Darcy adds, on a softer tone.

I want to gasp, out of shock and hope and sheer joy, but I don't, of course. I stay calm and smooth, the way everyone always saw "Jess the studious genius". The one that went to Colonial Academy and was immaculate in everything she did. The problem with being smart, genius, even, if you can call it that, is that nobody can see you as anything else.

Instead, I just smile and say "I missed you too."

I hate using past tense. I hate small talk. I hate awkward spaces between my sentences and his.

And, inside of me, my head is full of song lyrics and movie quotes and advice from my parents and Emma and all the other book club girls. It feels like a gun went off in my brain, and I'm not bulletproof.

One side of my head, the calm, sensible side, says to just apologize. After all, the breakup was my fault and I need to be mature, to accept the consequences for what I've done. If Darcy rejects me, which he probably will, I have only myself to blame for the mess.

The other side, the risky, edgy part of my mind, says that I might as well take a chance. What do I have to lose? It's not like Darcy and I are dating at the moment anyway. I should just plunge in, like a diver into freezing water, and hope for the best.

But why rush things? This is turning out pretty well. Darcy hasn't acted angry or harsh since we met up around an hour ago. I hope he's not furious with me, anyway, because I miss him like crazy. I have been since six months ago, when we broke up.

Because I have to be a coward and not take risks, I shut away all these overflowing feelings and words and focus on the _thump-thump-thump_ emanating from my outstretched fingers and the pulse of my neck.

Even if multiple Taylor Swift songs are streaming through my head like a long, silvery spiderweb, covered with raindrops and glistening in the noonday sun. Like "I Almost Do", "Back To December", and "I Wish You Would", all playing on continuous loop through the radio of my mind.

Thinking of Taylor Swift makes me think of my brother's chicken, named after her, and how much I miss my family, especially my mom. She was the one of the first people I talked to about Darcy. I remember middle school and how uncomplicated to ordeal was; simple, uncomplex, and beautiful.

My brain automatically connects the fleeting thought of my parents and brothers to Emma, who's almost like a sister to me. She's been there for me for pretty much every day of my life, and I'm definitely grateful.

Emma Jane Hawthorne was basically my and Darcy's matchmaker, and I can never thank her enough. Some sisters, like Becca Chadwick, would be upset a girl was dating their older brother (even if Becca eventually accepted Stewart and Emma's relationship).

I pull up at a local coffee shop and get out of the car. "This is the best place in town for hot chocolate," I explain to Darcy. He grins and proceeds to the curb. I feel my fingers dangle in the air, lingering, waiting for his, and remember the circumstances.

We walk in together, like Darcy cared enough to time his steps to mine and wait for me. He opens the door for me, which is kind of a Dad thing to do, but still nice, especially for an ex-girlfriend. The inside of the local coffee shop is beautiful.

The floors are hardwood, furnished well, and the light brown-and-white polka-dotted walls are covered with pictures of coffee cups and donuts and every other refreshment one could possibly think of.

An aroma of freshly-made strawberry cake wafts over to the two of us, and I can't help but feel tempted. Warm food and drinks help nurture the harsh wind outside, still continuous after the car ride. I ride and take off the hood of Darcy's jacket.

I love this jacket. I love all of his jackets. I like having sweater paws because his arms are so much longer than mine, and I like how big and comfortable they are. Especially, I like how much longer every jacket of his is on me, and how they drape past my hips. Lazy-looking, but definitely worth it.

"So, what do you want? I'll just have what you're ordering. I've never been here, and I trust your taste." Darcy says casually.

"Um…I'm having the hot chocolate, of course, and the raspberry lemon bread." I answer after a moment, even though I knew what I wanted the moment we walked in. Anything to stay with Darcy a little longer. "Does that sound good to you?"

"Sure."

The great thing about the coffee shop, called Anderson's Café, is that it's never crowded, even if it has good service and food. This is usually a big plus, because I'm in a rush, but just today I wish that I could spend more time with Darcy.

Oh, well. We step forward and place our orders, which are quickly ready. Why is that when you want time to stall, it always speeds ahead?

The hot chocolate tastes wonderful, with a thick dollop of whipped cream on top and marshmallows slowly melting inside the warm concoction. Our raspberry lemon breads are also delicious. Darcy and I both aren't anxious to get back outside, so we sit down and enjoy our food.

"So, how's Dartmouth?" I ask, lamely. I'm terrible at starting conversations.

Darcy doesn't seem to mind. He never did, even before we dated. He's just one of those generally laid-back, easygoing people that everybody agrees with.

"Good. I'm working on my masters' in history so I can be a college history professor." He says, even though I've already heard the same statement from Emma and his parents and from Darcy himself.

"Good."

"How's Juilliard?" He asks back.

"Not bad. I'm taking a music course there, and I'm going to night school to be a science teacher."

"You overachiever, Delaney." He says.

I laugh. My mom always said that one of the most important things to look for in a guy was his sense of humor, and if he could make you laugh. That's what made her fall for Dad, apparently. Ever since I was six or seven, that value was instilled in me.

Darcy sighs deeply. "I suppose I should tell you the real reason I'm here. School is out for winter break-"

I laugh and reply, "Yes, I am aware that Dartmouth lets out a few days before Juilliard does. Emma talks about you all the time. Quit rubbing it in!" Jokingly, of course.

"Hey! No interruptions!" He says, pretending to be insulted and hurt.

"Okay."

"Okay. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so _rudely cut off_, Dartmouth gives students three weeks to see their families and loved ones and travel for Thanksgiving."

The words "loved ones" spark my attention, and I sit up straighter in my patio-style café chair. Is Darcy going to say what I want him to say? If he is, I know that a confrontation will be extremely awkward in front of the employees, I quickly sit up and throw away our plastic cups and other trash.

"Okay! Ready to go?" I say abruptly, while Darcy is helping me clean up.

"Wait-I need to finish!" He says franticly.

"Nope! Not here! You can finish outside!" I say, laughing.

"Fine." Darcy says, like a child told to go to bed.

Darcy (again) holds the door for me as we exit Anderson's. I'm apprehensive for what he has to say to me. I'm guessing that it's important, which could be really good or really bad. It's a gamble.

"Well? Can I speak now?" Darcy says jokingly.

I laugh yet again. I've probably laughed more today than I have all week. All thoughts of bitter Professor Relz and my classmates are pushed out of my mind and Darcy proceeds in.

"Can you? You mean _may_ I speak now. Grammar, grammar!" I scold like an insistent mother.

"There's the professor-in-training. You sure you don't want to be a language arts teacher?" Darcy jokes. "Maybe you enrolled for the wrong course or something. You never know!"

"I'm as sure as I am of Earth's existence."

The wind and rain, not letting up, still howl but are blocked out by our laughter.

"Okay, I believe you can finally speak." I joke.

"I came to Juilliard because, with Thanksgiving Break and all, I finally had a chance to see you and apologize. I'm going crazy without you. Look, I'm sorry that we lost contact the way that we did. It's my fault. And you're probably partying it up at college, a single girl again, and all I am is miserable because you're not mine. You're beautiful and perfect and all I am is plain old me, but I'm in love with you, Jess. I miss you. I need you. You're my Elizabeth."

Darcy's strong words soothe the stings left by many days and nights, alone and confused. I could be _his_ again. He's willing to take me back after all the suffering I caused him. He's a dream come true. And because I'm not asleep anymore, because this is real life, not fictional or fantasy, I start to cry.

The rain comes pouring down on my tear-drenched face and I wipe away all of the water with Darcy's jacket's too-long sleeves.

"Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to be your Elizabeth Bennet. I want to be yours again. I haven't been having fun at college. I've spent all of my time moping and beating myself up because I let go of you. I'm crazy in love with you. So, thank you for being able to love me enough to take me back. I love you."

Time stands still for a moment, and then we're kissing in the rain. Have I mentioned how much I've come to love rain? I feel like a movie character. I don't care about how cliché the moment is. All I care about is how amazing it feels to have his lips on mine and to smile. The rain, still not asleep, streaks down into Darcy's jacket and leaves marks like paint splatters, but the moment is perfect.

Darcy picks me up, bridal-style, after our kiss and takes me to his car. He drives me back to my apartment, and we decide to order dinner later because we already had lemon bread and hot chocolate at the café. After we enter, I peer out the window with Darcy. I'm experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions at the moment, what with Darcy and all, but I'm still focused enough to notice that it's begun to snow lightly. Living in Concord all our lives, Darcy and I are used to it-but that doesn't mean we're not excited every time it snows.

"Wow. Nice place." Darcy says as soon as we step into my small, faraway apartment. I still wish that I'd gotten a dorm on campus, but I'm okay with my apartment at the moment. My mom was always decorating our house and hanging up holiday wreaths and stuff, so I suppose that the gene got passed onto me. There's a nice pullout couch, which doubles as a bed, a kitchen, a bathroom, my bedroom, and a desk in the corner so I can do my work, with a lamp and other office supplies on it.

The walls of my apartment are covered with pictures. Cassidy taught me how to take quality pictures, and she and the other book club girls pitched in to get me a nice camera for my birthday a few years ago. So, I'm the kind of girl who takes photos of everything possible. There are framed pictures of my family (even Uncle Hans and Aunt Felicia, though I _may have_ cut Felicia out), friends, and of wildlife and plants.

For Christmas, one of the years that we were still together, Darcy knew that I loved pictures, so he gave me a frame and a scrapbook. The scrapbook is tucked onto one of my many bookshelves, bursting with clipped photographs and small pen-written captions and stubs from attended hockey games and ashy pencil sketches. I don't have as many bookshelves as Emma's family has, but it's still more than the average person's home.

The frame rests noble and domesticated on a wall, above this one black sofa near my studying desk. It's bursting with photographs from many events over the last few years. Darcy walked around, taking in a place that was mystery to him but home to me. I knew where all the electrical outlets were and that the spare key was under the curtain outside and why I always unplugged the coffee maker, but Darcy didn't. He had yet to get used to a place that I'd called home for months.

His sneakers shuffled around on the soft shag carpet, once white but quickly graying, and I warned him not to touch the nearest doorknob because he's shock himself. It was amazing that I'd made so many lonely memories here by myself over the year, and how Darcy and I had just reunited but my apartment was already beginning to look and feel like home.

Darcy approached my desk: tall, white, and noble, with four legs like Grecian pillars holding it up. Papers were stacked neatly but were starting to misplace themselves, and a curved silver desk lamp seemed to say "study time!"

He halts for a split second when he reaches the black couch. "Is this the picture frame I gave you that Christmas you gave me the collection of signed basketball autobiographies?"

I nod shyly. "Didn't have the heart to lock it away like I did the memories."

It's easy to see that Darcy is trying to suppress emotion underneath the flat slit his mouth is.

"Listen, I was stupid for breaking up with you, and I ended up regretting it almost immediately after I did. I'm so, so sorry. It was all my fault. If you want to wait before we get back together, if we even do that, it's okay with me. It's your choice."

The thoughts running over and over in my head have finally managed to escape. As I speak, I run my left hand up my forehead and through my long hair. It's still damp from the rain.

"How could you ever think that this was completely your fault?" Darcy says quietly, a few moments after my choice words have slipped out. "Yes, you did break up with me, but you had to do it to avoid hurting us more, and it was because I'd been so busy at Dartmouth that semester. If anything, you just did what was sensible. I was too much in love to realize why you'd taken the fall."

I smile every time I hear Darcy's voice, since I've had withdrawal pains for months, but it's the phrase "too much in love" that makes me gasp.

"It's not your fault, Darcy. It's not my fault, either, though. It's just the way life worked out. There's nowhere for the blame to go. Now, life's steered us to where we can just pick up where we left off. Would you like to?"

"I'd love to."

Darcy and I both cheer simultaneously, which makes us break out laughing, and I propose a toast. The only things I can find in my kitchen that are even remotely celebration-type foods are lemonade and toaster pastries, so we put ice in the lemonade, order a pizza for dinner, and save the toaster pastries for dessert.

When our half-pepperoni, half-extra cheese pizza arrives fresh from Pizza Hut, and the pizza boy complains that it's starting to snow hard, Darcy and I decide to watch TV. I press a remote button and the TV screen flickers to life. Darcy, the famous channel-changer of the Hawthorne house, demonstrates his skill by going through a hundred (or so, I'm guessing; it could be more) channels in about a minute.

We decide that watching the news is too sad for such a happy moment in our relationship, that we won't watch the Simpsons because it's a rerun, and that we won't watch an old murder movie because horror movies scare me like poison scares a mother.

Finally, we decide on a Disney movie (neutral ground for both of us) playing on Disney channel, Darcy flips, quick as a flash, and finds out that Tangled just started. We tune into all of the songs, being Disnerds ourselves (especially Darcy) and finish the pizza.

The "Mother Knows Best" reprise is just climaxing when the movie is interrupted by a weather warning saying that ice is on the power lines, so schools are closed for the next day. The power where I live hasn't been affected by the cold just yet, because I live far off of campus, but it's a different story for the colleges.

"Maybe we should just drive home while we can. You know, roads are going to get closed soon, and then we'll just be stuck here for the winter holidays without our families." I state.

"What, you don't want to be with me?" Darcy fake-pouts.

"Of course I do. I'm crazy about you. But I miss my parents and Emma and even my brothers. And I'd like to see the Sloane-Kinkaids, Wongs, and the Chadwicks."

Darcy considers the choice and agrees quickly. "It's a drive of about four to five hours. You could pack a small bag and get the rest of the stuff you need back at Half Moon Farm. I packed a bag; it's in the trunk of my car. You could pack and sleep here tonight, and we could get home tomorrow afternoon."

I nod eagerly. A road trip with Darcy sounds like a lot of fun, even if it's just for a few hours. I pack some clothes, my phone and charger, a journal, and sleep in my room. It's 11 when I got to bed, but it feels really early, like the day forgot and sped ahead. Darcy sleeps on the pullout couch and wishes me good night.

Falling asleep to the falling snow, which I have to thank for school being canceled tomorrow, I start thinking of how thankful I am to Darcy. This is the thought that I fall asleep to and dream about all night.


End file.
